


world enough, and time

by Butterfly



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Margo Hanson/Josh Hoberman, Past Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn - Freeform, dealing with depression, exploring hedgewitch politics, going inside the mind of the monster, takes off from the end of 4x05 - nothing after that is canon in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-13 00:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19588387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: Quentin M. Coldwater, edition 40.1,revision 20revision 21Location: Underworld Branch of the Grand Library SystemsPermissions: Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily DisallowedGenre: Timeline Nexus PointsDiscipline: Physical; undeterminedStatus:Dead[indexing errorplease report to senior librarian of Timeline Nexus Points to confirm accuracy of latest revisions]The Monster touches his face and Quentin tries to stay calm, though he can't quite bring himself to look at its face in return. It doesn't wear Eliot's body quite right, and looking at it directly always gives him bad dreams later, when he manages to sleep.





	1. prologue: whispers and warnings

**Author's Note:**

> content warning: Margo engages in a brief castration fantasy.

Alice A. Quinn, edition 40, ~~revision 13~~ revision 14

**Location** : Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems  
**Permissions** : Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily Disallowed  
`[clarification requested; why have permissions been rescinded?`  
`The Order of the Library of the Neitherlands has requested our revisions to verify against theirs`  
`please advise]`  
**Genre** : Master Magicians  
**Discipline** : Physical; phosphoromancy  
**Status** : Alive; resurrected  
**Romance** : ~~Tragic; death of partner~~  
`[indexing error`  
`please report to nearest librarian to reclassify into correct category per latest revisions]`

_...and the door shut in Alice's face, firmly and with a finality that broke her heart. She blinked away the tears in her eyes and looked down to the World Book in her hands, reminding herself that even if Quentin didn't need her anymore, there was a place that she was supposed to go, and she had a roadmap to finding it..._

Following the book is proving more difficult than expected. Even with a destination in hand – dead-center in Las Vegas – getting there is trying her patience.

In retrospect, it's obvious – magic being limited by the Library means Alice has to find short-hop portals that are still active and criss-cross her way across half the country rather than going in one giant leap. Obvious or not, it's annoying.

Part of the problem is that she has very little to think about during her trip except Quentin.

Or, more accurately, she has a great deal she _could_ be thinking about instead of Quentin, but her mind instead chooses to dwell insistently on him. Some part of her had been certain that, if she was ever ready to try again, if she was honest and genuine and made it clear she was willing to restart their relationship... that he would leap at the chance. Despite everything. That, at the very least, he would take her on as his next big project – save his damsel in distress from her own damnation, like he'd wanted to do last year.

It's humbling to learn that isn't true, at all. That Quentin Coldwater has more important things going on in his life than Alice Quinn's redemption story. That he, apparently, isn't very interested in her at all right now, too consumed with stopping the monster and saving his friend to care about a woman that he... he used to love.

Just like Quentin, really, when she thinks about it. Always so concerned with being the big hero. Seems like that hasn't changed a bit, even if her place in his story has.

Before, _she_ was his heroine. Now he can barely stand to look at her, wanted her to leave as soon as possible.

Who's his heroine now?

But Alice can't let herself think about that. She has to focus on her future. On moving forward. On where she's meant to be.

She's never been to Vegas. She's never even been to Nevada. She can't quite imagine what reason the spell has to think it's where she's supposed to go.

But if she can't be near Quentin, if she can't try to-

She has to go somewhere. And Vegas is as good as anywhere else.

Once she arrives in the city itself, the World Book gets more specific about the address. Alice follows the glowing dot down West Harmon Avenue – passes by a large art installation of colorful... canoes? These people have a lot of time on their hands – and finds herself in front of the Vdara Hotel and Spa. She eyes it suspiciously. It seems like a place her parents would enjoy. She really, really hopes she isn't being led to a room where decadent revels are taking place. She's seen far too many of those already in her lifetime.

Alice goes inside the building, pulling some light around herself to hide from anyone who might try to ask her where she's going. She passes by both a cafe and a bar, which seems excessive, and goes to the elevators. The doors open and she ducks past some exiting patrons. A '3' flashes on the page of the book, so she goes up to the third floor.

Down the hallway, to one of the hotel rooms – three-oh-eight.

She drops her spell, knocks firmly on the door.

A woman answers – around Alice's age, she thinks. Curly hair, hazel eyes, light brown skin, just about Alice's height. She's dressed in jean shorts and a light blue top, with blue flip-flops. The woman studies Alice for a long, tense moment, then her eyes land on the World Book and she lights up with a slightly-lopsided grin. She relaxes, asks hopefully, “Oh, you know magic?”

“I... yes,” Alice says. She hefts up the book. “My name is Alice Quinn. Apparently, this is where I'm supposed to go?”

“Alice? Lovely name. I'm Bailey,” she says. Bailey holds the door open and backs away so that Alice can enter the room. “ _Such_ a relief to have another witch here, I can't tell you. I'm at my wits' end with the poor thing.”

Witch? Bailey must be a hedge, then. Alice considers her options.

“What is it you need help with?” she asks.

She's led into a fairly nice hotel room. Big bed, large window at the end. Bailey taps on the closed door to what must be the bathroom. “Right in here,” she says to Alice. Then, more loudly, “I've brought a friend. I hope you're decent.”

And she flings open the door.

* * *

Quentin M. Coldwater, edition 40.1, ~~revision 20~~ revision 21

**Location** : Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems  
**Permissions** : Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily Disallowed  
**Genre** : Timeline Nexus Points  
**Discipline** : Physical; undetermined  
**Status** : ~~Dead~~  
`[indexing error`  
`please report to senior librarian of Timeline Nexus Points to confirm accuracy of latest revisions]`

_...as he tried to control the surge of joy that rose up in his heart every time he remembered the look on Eliot's face in the park. He couldn't think about it too much, couldn't hope too openly, because he couldn't let the Monster see..._

It touches his neck and Quentin does his best to repress a shudder. He's not sure why he bothers, honestly – the Monster doesn't have a strong enough grasp of human body language to really understand what a gesture of revulsion means – but Quentin doesn't want to show it any more weaknesses than it's already seen, just in case it figures out how to take advantage.

Now that they know it's building a body, he thinks maybe they have a chance to figure out who it really is – _what_ it really is – that the gods are so desperately afraid of it.

Quentin just wishes he didn't feel so alone in this.

Julia hasn't spoken since the park, and he knows she's grieving over Shoshana. They'd barely known her, but Jules had already started to feel responsible for her. Quentin should feel worse that she's dead, but he's been having a hard time, recently, with complex emotions. It's a bad sign, but he doesn't have time for whatever his brain needs to do, not when there's a real chance of saving Eliot again. Right now, he has to focus. He can worry about himself later, after Eliot is saved.

The Monster touches his face and Quentin tries to stay calm, though he can't quite bring himself to look at its face in return. It doesn't wear Eliot's body quite right, and looking at it directly always gives him bad dreams later, when he manages to sleep. It asks him questions about their next steps and Quentin- he doesn't know, so he makes something up for now, to distract it.

After the Monster has disappeared again, Quentin sits on the couch for a while and just breathes. He has to- to focus. He can save Eliot. He _has to_ save Eliot.

So, that means he has to make a body for the Monster.

He researches for a while, trying to figure out where the next stone might be. Julia comes back, briefly. She's having a hard time finding Penny Twenty-Three. Quentin agrees that it's odd, because Penny normally sticks as close to Julia as possible, but it's hard for him to concentrate on anything else right now, when the Monster could come back at any moment.

He and Julia do a locator spell to try to find Penny, but it's a bust.

“Maybe he went to Fillory?” Quentin suggests, but he's not too hopeful. This Penny doesn't seem to like Fillory any more than their original Penny had.

Still, Quentin does take the time to send another of their diminishing colony of messenger bunnies off to Margo, letting her know that Eliot's alive and if she sees Penny, please let him know Julia would like to see him.

Quentin's getting somewhat concerned she hasn't replied yet to any of his messages. It isn't like her.

* * *

Eliot M. Waugh, edition 40.1, ~~revision 20~~ revision 21

**Location** : Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems  
**Permissions** : Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily Disallowed  
`[The Order of the Library of the Neitherlands has filed an official complaint`  
`re: rescinding of lending permissions for current revisions to this and several other related texts]`  
**Genre** : God-Touched  
**Discipline** : Physical; telekinesis  
**Status** : Alive; possessed  
**Romance** : ~~Tragic; death of partner~~  
`[indexing error`  
`please report to nearest librarian to reclassify into correct category per latest revisions]`

_...paced inside his own mind, hoping beyond hope that Quentin had understood his message. But Eliot couldn't just promise to be brave in the future. He had to start by being brave right now, and that meant..._

“I hate the thought of you alone out there,” Charlton says, though Eliot notices he doesn't say anything about actually coming with, even though his stomach wound has already – unbelievably – scabbed over. Though, honestly, Eliot isn't sure if the rapid healing is any more odd than a... whatever Charlton is... being able to get hurt in the first place. Some things about magic continue to be too fucking weird for Eliot to understand how they work.

“I won't be alone,” Eliot says, though the mental companions he's conjured up this time – High King Margo with a fancy bedazzled eyepatch, the Quentin he'd hugged after escaping from cannibals in the Neitherlands, and Fen wielding a sword that he was pretty sure came from his nightmares just after they'd married – are only as much company as he makes them. “It doesn't matter, anyway. I can't just sit here waiting to be rescued.”

Not from any fear that Quentin might be disappointed in him; Eliot knows he wouldn't be – just from the knowledge that if Eliot doesn't work to find out everything he can while he's inside this monster's head, he'll regret it later.

So, he sets off, with Margo and Quentin on either side and Fen ranging ahead as a scout, fixes his eyes on the furthest spot he can see from the door of his happy place, and begins exploring.

* * *

Margo J. Hanson, edition 40, ~~revision 13~~ revision 14

**Location** : Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems  
**Permissions** : Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily Disallowed  
`[The Order of the Library of the Neitherlands demands latest revisions from Underworld Branch`  
`suggestion: references to Coldwater, Q.M. ed. 40.1 rev 21 be struck from affected texts`  
`edited texts then loaned as requested to Head Librarian of Neitherlands Branch]`  
**Genre** : Elected Rulers  
**Discipline** : Physical; cryomancy  
**Status** : Alive; lycanthrope  
**Romance** : Accidental; curses or spells  
_see also:_ Hoberman, J.E. ed. 40 rev. 5  
  
`**No Alterations Without Permission From Head Librarian of Underworld Branch**`  
`**No Exceptions To New Policies Regarding Lending**`

_...she avoided Josh's eyes carefully. He'd been acting differently around her since they banged, and she was kinda hoping she hadn't fucked up a good friendship. She needed all the friends she could get, especially since she was starting to be terrified that maybe Eliot really was gone. She didn't know how she could..._

“Unfortunately, I'm awake again. Any of the animals miraculously regain the ability to talk while I was in the blissful world of being drugged out of my mind?” Margo pokes at the box holding her fucking useless birthright lizard.

“Um. Not as such,” Tick prevaricates. She pictures slicing his dick off, slowly, lets her fantasy show in her eyes. He quails. “But there is a new development! King Idri has come to share in our mourning over...” His voice fades out, probably because she's progressed to imagining cutting his dick off and then _making him eat it_. “King Idri is here.”

“Fabulous. Is he currently engaged in any of Fen's eighteen-million rituals?” Margo doesn't wait for an answer. “Doesn't matter. Tell him to come to the throne room.” She looks past Tick, at Rafe, who at least isn't weeping anymore.

She doesn't look at Josh, who at least is finally around but is acting super-weird, in her expert opinion.

“How's Abigail doing?” she asks Rafe, not unkindly.

“Her Slowness remains mute, but is not as down-hearted over it. She's never learned much written language, being nobility and always having someone to write for her plus her lack of opposable thumbs, but she's managed to scratch out a handful of words to reassure me, which was tremendously kind of her, don't you think? She has such a giving heart,” Rafe says, back to being swooningly in love with Abigail instead of being depressingly worried over her so... at least that's back to normal.

“That's... great. We'll get you two lovebirds back to chatting terms in no time,” Margo says, and claps him on the shoulder.

“We're not... birds?” Rafe sounds baffled and, oh. “She's a sloth. I'm human?”

“It's an Earth expression; it means you're cute together,” Margo says, which makes him brighten right back up again. “Where's Fen?”

“As you suspected, Queen Fen is currently entertaining King Idri,” Tick volunteers. Well, fuck. Margo's gotta rescue him. She likes Fen, she genuinely does, but these fucking mourning rituals are the worst goddamn thing Fillory has come up with yet and that's against some pretty strong competition. At least when Alice died after the Beast, there were no family or loved ones rituals to deal with, just the royalty ones.

Huh, if Quentin hadn't been down for the count after Alice had niffin'd out, would _he_ have been expected to do all these ridiculous things or were they reserved for spouses and close friends? Were he and Alice even enough of a thing when she died for any of that to be considered necessary?

“We get any more silent bunnies?” she asks. While she's thinking of Quentin.

“Enough to start a farm,” Josh says, his voice thin. “Or- a ranch, maybe.”

He sounds upset. Whatever. Not her problem. She has more important things to worry about right now.

“If it were an emergency, they'd send Twenty-Three,” Margo says, reminds herself. Unless Twenty-Three is as dead as Forty. Fuck. Maybe she _should_ go through the Clock Tree, check on Q.

But the thought of seeing that thing in Eliot's body again is...

She shakes herself out of it. “Okay, let's go find out if Idri has any reason to be here, besides the whole bare-breasted screaming that's all the rage these days.”

* * *

Alice A. Quinn, edition 40, revision 14

**Location** : Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems  
**Permissions** : Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily Disallowed; No Exceptions  
**Genre** : Master Magicians  
**Discipline** : Physical; phosphoromancy  
**Status** : Alive; resurrected  
**Romance** : ~~Bittersweet; separation~~  
`[indexing error`  
`please report to nearest senior librarian for reclassification`  
`cross-reference: Waugh, E.M. ed. 40.1 rev. 21 & Coldwater, Q.M. ed. 40.1 rev. 21`  
`suggestion: additional training for assistant librarians`  
`reminder: review revisions throughly before recommending category changes]`  
  
`**Training Scheduled: Please See Local Supervisor For Times**`  
`**Refer Any Changes To Coldwater, Q.M. ed. 40.1 Or Related Texts To Senior Librarians Only**`

_...hadn't been what she'd expected, though she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Alice stared in wide-eyed recognition at the mass of dancing lights in front of her..._

The starsprite buzzes at Alice in annoyance. They've been talking – communicating – for over an hour now, and Alice is slowly coming to terms with the fact that the World Book had sent her to a being she'd hurt, very deeply.

They're smaller than Alice remembers, from when she was a niffin, and more of a bluish-white glow instead of the umber-orange, but the tone of their voice is clear and distinct.

Bailey, who had been so welcoming when Alice had arrived, has been getting quieter and quieter over the course of the conversation. Alice's list of crimes against the starsprite and their family is... extensive. And, like with the lamprey, she'd done it for no other reason than curiosity and a twisted love of beauty.

After their grievances have been aired, the starsprite announces that Alice is going to help them get back the magical essence her niffin-self had stolen from them.

“Yes, of course,” Alice says. Part of her is waiting for them to pronounce a harsher sentence of some kind, a judgement, but they say nothing else, just settle back down to the bottom of Bailey's bathtub, content to wait for her to figure out their next step.

“You were a niffin?” Bailey asks. She's lying down on the bed, her head hanging off the edge. It doesn't look relaxing. “How- that's not supposed to be reversible.”

“I had- a very determined boy in love with me,” Alice says. There's always a conflicted mix of emotions, when she talks about Quentin or thinks about him. The love that had turned to pain and bitterness, the longing that had never quite faded, the anger that ebbed and flowed. “He wouldn't give up trying to save me.” She shrugs, and she can't quite hide the ache in her voice.

“Ugh, boys,” Bailey says, wrinkling her nose. “They're the worst. Still, though, that's an impressive piece of magic. What house did you two work out of?”

There are a lot of assumptions in Bailey's question that Alice isn't sure how to address.

“New York.” Alice knows Bailey will see it as an evasion, but hopefully she won't realize exactly what Alice is trying to avoid saying. “The spell I need to do for the starsprite. It's cooperative. And we'll need a lot more power than the ambient that's currently here. Do you have any leads on sources to more magic?”

“Never been to New York,” Bailey says, slow and thoughtful. “You like it?”

“It's fine,” Alice says. She kind of hates New York, honestly, but it's not as though she's spent too much time in the city itself. “Do you have any leads?”

Bailey rolls over on the bed, props her head up on her hands, looks at Alice for a long moment.

“Yeah,” she says, after the silence has officially become uncomfortable. “I think I might.”

* * *

William “Penny” B. Adiyodi, edition 23.1, revision 3

**Location** : Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems  
**Permissions** : Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily Disallowed; No Exceptions  
**Genre** : Timeline Anomalies  
**Discipline** : Mental; psychic  
**Status** : Alive; traveller  
**Romance** : Bittersweet; cross-timeline contamination  
_see also:_ Wicker, J.O. ed. 23 & Wicker, J.O. ed. 40 rev. 14 

_...head fuzzy and his body aching, Penny slowly came back to consciousness on a cold stone floor. He remembered the pain, remembered someone hurting him, so he kept his eyes closed, pretended that he was still knocked out as he tried to assess the situation..._

Penny can hear a vaguely familiar voice. A woman that he heard talking maybe once before.

Shit, _fuck_ , he remembers when. Right when everything went to crap after the key quest finished up and they brought back magic. What's her fucking name?

Yvette?

Ingrid?

...Irene. That's it. Irene McGrindsUpFairies. Well, that is... not a great sign.

Instinctively, he tries to travel to Julia.

He can still hear the woman's voice.

He tries to travel to Brakebills, to Fogg's office.

And Irene is still talking.

He tries- tries to travel to that stupid gold chair in that apartment they'd stolen from Marina.

_Shit_.

He hasn't moved at all.

So, he's trapped somewhere with a woman who carves up magical creatures so that she can snort the powder for a quick power boost. It is a bad _bad_ time to think about how, as a traveller, he is also technically a magical creature.

Penny keeps his eyes shut and listens in on her conversation – she's talking a mile a minute, sounds jumpy. He hears another voice, also a woman. He's not sure if he's ever met this one. She and Irene are talking about... an allotment? Magic, they're talking about a magic supply. That is super-chilling to hear this specific woman talk about, so that's fantastic.

Okay, he just has to stay calm, figure out why he can't travel, and then plan an escape.

And not die.

He really really wants to not die.

* * *

Eliot M. Waugh, edition 40.1, revision 21

**Location** : Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems  
**Permissions** : Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily Disallowed; No Exceptions  
**Genre** : God-Touched  
**Discipline** : Physical; telekinesis  
**Status** : Alive; possessed  
**Romance** : Bittersweet; separation  
_see also:_ Coldwater, Q.M. ed. 40.1 rev. 21

_...spiraled further and further inside the mind of the monster. The cobblestones were pitted and ancient, and it was no place out of Eliot's memory. It had to be someone else's. So, he pressed onward and inward, hoping that he wasn't just getting himself lost as he..._

So far, his current protectors are holding strong.

Which is good, because he doesn't recognize a thing around him right now. On the one hand, the entire point of this expedition is to discover something new about the monster. On the other, if he gets too deep inside the monster's memories, he's not sure if he can find his way back.

This empty town or village or... city? It's large, but echoing and lifeless. It doesn't look like Fillory or any of the places he's been to on Earth. There aren't any people around but there are signs that people _were_ here once – a chamber pot, thankfully with nothing in it, rolling across the street... chewed up chicken bones strew across the ground... an abandoned shoe, on the small side, just a simple brown flat.

Creepy as fuck.

The road he's traveling down is leading towards a rough-hewn stone castle that looms suddenly out of the mist like it's just been plopped into place. Which is, considering _where_ he is, entirely possible.

“Everyone ready?” Eliot asks.

Fen brandishes her sword; Quentin shrugs in a painfully familiar way; Margo says, “Let's fuck some monster shit up.”

The door to the castle is slightly ajar. Eliot nods to Fen, who nudges it open the rest of the way with her weapon, jumping inside protectively once the door is flung wide.

No one.

They make their way down the hallways, passing paintings and tapestries all hung askew, like they'd been knocked aside in a fight or had been put up by someone who hated the concept of right angles or symmetry. As they get further in, he hears a sound – someone singing? A woman. He doesn't recognize the voice. They proceed more cautiously, sneaking past the entrance to the main hall, which is as empty as the rest of this place, towards what he thinks might be the kitchen area.

She's cooking soup. The smell wafts out the door, meat and vegetables that he refuses to admit he can identify by scent alone, and she's definitely singing, though he doesn't know the song.

Eliot knows _her_ , though. He didn't see her for very long, but it was memorable. He sidles into the kitchen alone, leaving his friends to guard the hallway.

“Ora?”

She stops stirring the soup. She's not dressed as a warrior right now, just in simple clothes that remind him of Fillory.

“Quentin's friend, yes?” Ora turns, braces a hip against the wall next to the bubbling pot of soup. “The one who tried to-”

“The one who failed,” Eliot says. A little bitter, mostly resigned. “Charlton said you were dead.”

“Charlton?” She thinks a moment, then scoffs. “Ah, would that be the gangly one who fled when I was swarmed by the shadowforms?”

“Probably,” Eliot admits. “He's not the bravest person I've ever met.”

“Hmm. So, why are you here, Quentin's friend?” Ora asks. Then she holds up a hand. “Never mind. Our meal is almost ready. Conversation can wait until after we have something hot in our bellies.”

“It's not real,” Eliot says. Ora raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Fine. Let's have some soup. And then we'll talk.”

* * *

Alice A. Quinn, edition 40, revision 14

**Location** : Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems  
**Permissions** : Lending of This Item to Other Branches is Temporarily Disallowed; No Exceptions  
**Genre** : Master Magicians  
**Discipline** : Physical; phosphoromancy  
**Status** : Alive; resurrected  
**Romance** : Bitter; rejection  
_see also:_ Coldwater, Q.M. ed. 40.1 rev 21

_...could hardly believe she was getting a second chance at this. She'd thought that all the horrible things she'd done as a niffin had been baked in, impossible to change. That she might actually get to fix one of her mistakes, actually get to help someone that the niffin version of her had hurt, it made something inside her..._

“We'll need to go to the Bellagio,” Bailey says. “That's where the portal we need is located. Do you need to borrow a dress? You don't look like you have any luggage.”

“No, I'm... traveling light,” Alice says. “But I can make myself unseen.”

“By any other witches, too?” Bailey asks, popping an eyebrow. “Well, it's your choice.”

Bailey doesn't take long to change, ending up in a clingy yellow dress that ends just above the knees and matching wedges. The style reminds Alice of maybe something Margo would have worn at Brakebills, though not in that color.

The starsprite zips inside Bailey's purse, squeezing themselves down as small as they could. Bailey shrinks her bags, too, puts the small versions in her purse alongside the starsprite. It's a neat bit of magic, though there's some inefficiency at the edges that Brakebills' training would have smoothed off.

Alice pulls her spell over herself again and Bailey makes a delighted sound.

“Oh, that is good!” Bailey swings her purse over her shoulder, adds, “When we get back to my house, I'd love to learn it.”

Technically, Alice shouldn't be handing out spells developed in Brakebills to hedgewitches. Practically, though, she honestly doesn't care, so Alice just kind of goes “Mmm-hmm.” Bailey's safehouse clearly has access to some fairly high-level spells, from what she's seen Bailey do already, so she's pretty sure they can handle another one.

Bailey fits right into the crowd at the Bellagio and Alice follows invisibly in her wake. The portal is hiding in a janitor's closet and it's a strong one, pulsing with magic once they get close to it.

It takes them – further west, she thinks, and maybe south.

They end up in another closet, squished together. Bailey grins at her, startles her by patting her casually on the hip until she realizes Bailey's trying to get her to move, and, after Alice scoots to the side, she reaches past Alice to knock a code on the door that makes it open by itself.

Alice stumbles out after her, blinking in the sudden bright sunshine of... yes, she's pretty sure that's the Pacific Ocean that the light is glinting off of.

“Are we in California?” she asks.

“About halfway between Santa Ana and San Diego,” Bailey says, kicking off her shoes and sinking her toes in the sand. “Our house works in Vegas but we didn't want to live there. You'll like it, I think, if you decide you want to stay.”

She says it so casually, so... kindly, even after what she's heard from the starsprite about Alice's past. And maybe if she knew the whole truth about what Alice has done, she wouldn't extend such a warm welcome. Or maybe... maybe the World Book spell wasn't just sending her to help the starsprite. Maybe... maybe it was also sending her to Bailey, and Bailey's hedgewitch safehouse.

There's only one way to find out, so Alice squares her shoulders and follows Bailey down the beach.

She isn't going to waste a chance to actually fix something for a change.


	2. another brick in the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penny meets some new people. Margo comes up with a plan. Kady has concerns about Quentin and the Monster. Alice gets ready for an uncomfortable conversation. Eliot starts on a quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: there is a brief moment of animal endangerment in this chapter. Quentin's relationship with the Monster is tense in the same way that it is in canon.

“ _To my dismay, the Underworld Branch continues to send 'polite refusals' regarding our requests to have Mr. Coldwater's Book and related texts sent to the Order so that we can cross-check them against our copies. This is a heavy setback and quite a concerning reversal from our formerly cordial and cooperative relationship with that Branch. Observed reality continues to deviate from the Books we currently have at hand. Ms. Quinn must have done something to contaminate the writing process before her escape, but we have not been able to isolate the issue yet. We cannot consult Cassandra about the problem as long as the Underworld continue to deny us general access. Again, a troubling response. We are having difficulty locating the other children as well. Dean Fogg refuses to cooperate, saying that our contract remains valid even if they've regained their memories. I wish he believed we only have their best interests at heart. I don't understand why he would make a deal with us, but then insist on being obstructive at every turn. Ms. McAllister may have a lead on the children's locations, though she has been reluctant to share information fully. She insists we speak in person, so hopefully I'll learn more soon. I cannot risk acting on incomplete information. Too much is at stake.”_

From the private records of Zelda Schiff  
Head Librarian; Order of the Library of the Neitherlands

* * *

Penny carefully pries his eyes open the slightest crack – he can't see Irene from where he is, but he also can't see any bars, so that's a plus. He _can_ see a bright line of active runes on the floor and ceiling, almost certainly what's keeping him from traveling. He's guessing they're warded to prevent physical interference, but he'll probably get a chance to test that at some point.

The room itself is big and airy and has the general vibe of one of those douchey open-floor modern office spaces, hideous in a minimalist and expensive way. He tries to clock exactly where the voices are coming from but they're distorted, almost. Reluctantly, he opens his eyes more, looks around, still trying to be as cautious as possible.

He finally spots them – two white ladies, chatting away while he's been unconscious on the floor. Super classy. One of them is the one whose voice he'd recognized – Irene from Castle Blackspire, murderer and slave-owner and all-around monster. The other one... her, he doesn't think he's seen before. She's tall or... nah, she's wearing high wedges, so maybe not. Beige pantsuit. Incredibly retro cat-eye glasses and curled-up hair.

He makes another attempt to travel away, but fails.

Well, this is getting him nowhere. Time for a new approach.

“I don't appreciate any of this,” he says, loudly, leveraging himself up to a sitting position. His head aches a little, from whatever fucking drug they used to dose him. “Kidnapping's a crime. Even for Magicians.”

The two women turn to face him, wary but not surprised, he thinks.

“I do apologize for your current position, Mr. Adiyodi,” says the lady he doesn't know. “Rest assured, I am working on clearing the matter up as we speak.”

“You're here to free me?” he asks, dubiously. He tries reaching for her mind, then Irene's, but both of them are warded up tight.

“She's here to take you away from me,” Irene says, hotly. “And, trust me, the Library's prison cells are much less comfortable than the accommodations I've arranged for you here.”

“Uh-huh.” He's kinda like a bone being yanked between two junkyard dogs right now. Not the greatest feeling. “How about _neither_ of you keeps me prisoner because I'm a fucking human being?”

“Language, Mr. Adiyodi,” says not-Irene. “Though your point is valid.”

“Yeah, it _fucking_ is. And I'll use whatever goddamn language I fucking want,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I am being held prisoner by a woman who _eats people_. Civility has already been breached past the point of no return, lady.”

Irene scoffs. He ignores her because, well. She's a slave-owner who eats people. He focuses on the other lady, who has taken a step forward, towards the line of runes.

“You're right, of course,” she says, voice hushed. “I apologize for- for scolding you. I _am_ trying to get you out of here, Mr. Adiyodi, and I don't plan to put you in a cell afterwards.”

“He's my ticket to the others,” Irene says, firmly. “I'm not giving him up. And if we let him go, he could take them anywhere. We'd never find them again.”

“Okay, so while you two argue over exactly how many of my basic human rights you want to violate today, anyone gonna tell me where I can take a piss?”

The vulgarity throws off that one lady, Civility Lady, again. Irene just rolls her eyes.

“Behind you.”

There's a door with one of those universal restroom symbols on it so, okay. He heads in, shuts it behind himself. He doesn't particularly try to hide the fact that he's investigating the wall and fixtures for an escape route, since he's sure Irene would expect no less. He flushes the toilet and washes his hands in the sink, taps his knuckles against the wall thoughtfully. He can feel the ward buzzing against his skin. Finally, he tugs his phone out of his pocket, hoping maybe Irene's old enough that she'd overlook warding against phone calls. No such luck.

He comes back out, and the two ladies are chatting to each other again.

“So, you gonna spring me?” he asks, wiping his hands off on his shirt. “Because I gotta tell you – this is not the best vacation I've ever taken.”

“Unfortunately, I won't be able to help yet,” Civility Lady says, disgruntled. “Perhaps if you cooperate in the search for your friends?”

“Or you could go screw yourselves,” Penny says, evenly. He glances around the area he's currently trapped into – besides the bathroom, there's a cabinet that he's guessing has food in it. She's probably hoping he'll give in and help her before it runs out and she needs to try to restock. No microwave or oven or anything like that. There's also a curtain along the side. He pulls it away, and there's a bed behind it. He sits down, bounces experimentally. Kinda comfy.

They talk at him some more but he just ignores them and waits it out until Civility Lady leaves. Irene stares at him for a while longer, unhappy. Good. He's pretty fucking unhappy, too. He stares back, in silence, until she throws her hands up and turns away to do something at her desk.

Anyway, he's certainly not going to wait on Civility Lady to save him. And none of the others know he's here.

He's gonna have to save himself.

* * *

  


“Is it quite certain he's dead?” King Idri asks Margo, as they stroll through the palace gardens. It had taken some doing, but she'd finally managed to pry him away from Fen and her rituals. She's pretty sure he's as relieved about that as she is.

“Not certain,” Margo says, but then admits, reluctantly, “But the odds aren't great. He's- kind of a prisoner right now, and we can't exactly talk to him. He might be dead. We don't actually know.”

“Still, I will refrain from mourning until we have a firm answer,” he says. “Now, I believe you have another problem as well, one that I – that Loria – may be equipped to solve.”

Margo considers playing coy. Playing politics. But honestly? She's too goddamn tired for games.

“Look, I know we have things that you need, so let's just start off talking terms right away.” She puts her hands on her hips, does her best to channel Diana of Themyscira. “What solution do you have to break the silence of the lambs? Cause it's getting real goddamn irritating.”

“We don't have many talking animals who live in Loria, but there are a few and, of those, only some were struck mute. The herbivores were the ones still talking, so we suspected it had something to do with the food they were eating,” Idri says. “We were proven correct. There's a particular Lorian fruit that seems to mitigate the effect. I have a few samples with me. If they work, perhaps we can come to a deal.”

“All right, sounds like a plan,” Margo says. And it's such a fucking relief to actually have a solution in front of her instead of just more problems and heartbreak. She pats Idri's arm companionably. “And, King Idri? Thanks for not just giving up on Eliot. There's been a lot of fucking wailing and mourning around here.”

“Our engagement becoming politically unviable didn't affect my fondness for him,” Idri says, and it shows in the warmth of his voice when he talks about El. “He's both kind and clever. I sincerely hope he makes it out of whatever trouble he's in.”

“You and me both,” Margo says, then focuses on the problem at hand. “So, do you have the fruit on you right now?”

“In my guest room,” Idri tells her. She takes their stroll in the direction of the correct wing. She's able to relax now, actually appreciate the gardens, which are _glorious_. Riots of color and rich scents that waft gently to their noses.

“You know, if you're still interested in marrying a High King, I like you fine too,” she says. “I think I'm free again now?”

Idri laughs, but gently.

“Sorry, my dear. I will never take another wife. My heart is too beholden to my late love.”

“Not something I have personal experience with, but I respect it,” Margo says. A second later, she remembers- shit, she _couldn't_ have married him. She's a fucking werewolf now. She's not gonna risk infecting the goddamn head of a neighboring country.

Well, that's... fuck.

Somehow, for the first time, the actual _political_ consequences of what she did for Josh are sinking in. She just took herself off the marriage market and didn't even realize it. That is... a goddamn fucking problem, that's what it is.

Well, flying fuckballs. That's a kick in the pussy.

* * *

Morissette yaps around her ankles as Kady tries to open the penthouse door while holding onto Pete's waist with her other hand. At least he _can_ walk – it had been a close thing when she'd found him.

She dumps him on the couch and scouts the apartment for the others.

No signs of anyone else, though there is an abandoned cereal bowl on the counter.

“Feeling any better?” Kady asks, scooping up Ettie and dumping her directly onto Pete's lap, where she proceeds to lick every part of him she can reach. “I'm not great at medical magic, but I could give it a try.”

“I think they're bruised, not broken,” he says, making sure Ettie stays where she won't impact against his ribs and petting her softly. “You got there in time.”

“Who _were_ those assholes?”

“Librarians,” Pete says. “They found out about my safehouse. Wanted to make a point.”

“The motherfucking Library.” Kady shakes her head, anger surging through her. “Did they hurt the rest of your people?”

“Broke some fingers. Metaphorically speaking. They used Jarret's Unspeakable.” Pete sighs, waves his hand at her. Physically, it looks fine, but when she takes deeper look, uses magic, she can see the tiny threadwork strands looped around his fingers, locking away his power so that he can't cast. She can break it, she thinks, but it'll be rough with ambient so low. And the spell she's thinking of is cooperative anyway, so she'll need to wait for Julia or Quentin to get back.

“Those fuckers.” Kady sits down next to Pete on the couch, feeling heavy and yet- yet almost elated. This is what she'd felt as Sam. _Knowing_ that there was a right course of action and that all she needed was the strength to follow it. “We've gotta do something about them.”

“Hey, I'm all ears,” Pete says. “Librarians are the worst. Always were. My librarian in high school was- you know, she actually smacked my hand with a ruler once?”

“I honestly don't give a shit,” Kady says. “Jesus fuck, Pete. Focus.”

“This whole thing really makes me miss Marina,” Pete says, leaning his head back against the couch. “She'd have eviscerated them, even without Deweys.”

“I mean... if you really miss her that much, there's another one running around now,” Kady says. Pete raises his head and squints at her suspiciously. “Not lying. She's from an alternate timeline. No clue if she knows you.”

“Huh.” Pete relaxes again, patting Ettie's ever-wagging backside. “The world isn't ready. Marina two-point-oh. Is she still hot?”

“Go fuck yourself, Pete,” Kady says, with pointed disgust. “Don't make me regret saving you.”

“Sorry, sorry! Sheesh,” Pete says. “But come on, Kady. Marina _liked_ that people thought she was hot.”

She glares at him and-

Quentin and that thing in Eliot's body are standing in the kitchen. They're in the middle of an intense discussion, continued from wherever they were before-

“-you, okay?” Quentin says, appealingly, almost pleadingly. There's something different about him. She's not sure what. The monster is wearing another blood-streaked t-shirt with a blazer layered over it and she's pretty sure Eliot would rather die than have either of those garments touch his body. “We just have to keep trying. We're getting there. All you need is a little patience.”

“That is not _all_ I need, Quentin. I need the rest of the stones,” the monster says, petulant, a hand resting heavy on Quentin's shoulder, at the curve of his neck. “I need my memory. My _name_.”

“We'll get them,” Quentin says, and he's the one who leans forward and he doesn't look at the monster's face directly, but he straightens the collar of the blazer, and it's- affectionate? “We'll get you everything you need.”

Happy.

Quentin seems _happy_.

What the actual fuck? He's practically licking the monster's boots but he keeps hiding the hints of a smile around the corner of his mouth, like he's fucking thrilled about life. That is- not the Quentin she knows.

Ettie barks sharply and climbs on the back of the couch.

Kady's heart thumps hard.

Quentin and the monster both turn and look at Ettie, excitedly yapping for attention from the new arrivals.

“Why is it making so much noise?” the monster asks, striding away from Quentin and- fuck, picking Ettie up with one hand. She wriggles and tries to lick at the monster's face. “I don't like the noise.”

There's a frozen moment.

Quentin looks just as horrified as she feels, watching the monster hold Ettie so dispassionately.

“Why don't I take her?” Quentin asks, rushing forward, slipping a hand under Ettie's rump and giving her more support. “So she stops bothering you.” He can't actually pull Ettie away, because the monster still has Eliot's hand curved around Ettie's fragile little squirming body. “Please. She's delicate.”

“ _Del-li-cate_ ,” the monster says, sounding out each syllable. “Hmm. That's pretty.”

The monster lets go, abruptly, and Quentin cradles Ettie to his chest as she flails around and licks happily at his neck. Jesus, she thought animals were supposed to be able to pick up on bad vibes.

“Very well, Quentin. I will leave you with Delicate. Teach... it?”

“Her,” Quentin whispers.

“-her. Teach her to make less noise.”

“Okay,” Quentin says. He seems so much smaller than when he'd first dropped in with the monster, curled protectively around Ettie's tiny body.

The monster spares a glance in Kady's direction, but barely seems to see her or Pete, thankfully.

“Tell Hoolia if she finds more information, I would like it as soon as she learns it,” the monster says. “Now that I know gods are spying on you, I can protect you. I think I can protect you.” There's a dreadfully tense pause. “ _Quentin_. I'm doing something nice. You should say, 'thank you', when someone does something nice for you.”

“Thank you,” Quentin says. Mouths, really, barely any sound escaping him.

The monster touches him again – his cheek, which makes him freeze in place, staring at a point just to the side of its face.

And then the monster is gone.

Quentin almost collapses, seems to hold himself up by sheer force of will. He's petting at Ettie frantically, saying, “You're okay, honey. Everything's okay.”

“What the fuck just happened?” Pete asks, and Kady is intensely glad he'd been smart enough not to talk while the monster was still in the room.

“I'm so sorry,” Quentin says, and he hands her Ettie. “I didn't realize you were back or I would have- distracted the monster, had us go somewhere else.”

“What the hell is going on, Coldwater? Before that thing grabbed Morissette, you were acting like it was your friend. Like you _liked_ it. And you aren't that good an actor.” Kady cuddles Ettie against her shoulder. Ettie, who apparently has no fucking danger sense at all, yips a little. “Actually, you're a shit actor.”

“Thanks,” Quentin says and he rolls his eyes, and he seems like himself again. “Eliot's _alive_ , Kady. He broke through, spoke to me.” And there's that weird happy glow again, that best-news-in-the-world giddiness in his eyes. And-

_Oh_.

Quentin is still talking, like he does.

“-be that hard, I think,” he says.

She studies him, in light of her possible revelation. She's honestly never thought of Coldwater as cool enough to be bisexual? But that's probably unfair of her. Uncool people can be bisexual, too. “I mean, saving Waugh is definitely on the priority list,” she says, as a test.

Quentin locks onto her like she's just rescued him from drowning, his smile small but lighting up his whole face, deepening the crinkles around his eyes. “Thank you! You know, Jules doesn't get it. I don't know why.”

Because Julia hasn't realized Quentin's in love with Eliot, Kady thinks, half-hysterical about it because, _shit_ , this is gonna complicate any plans they might try to make about the monster. She wasn't there for most of it last time, but Quentin has definitely dealt with the 'my lover turned into a monster' issue before and it didn't go great from what she remembers.

“I still have no idea what's going on,” Pete complains from the couch. He tries to get up, then falls back down with a pained groan.

Quentin startles, apparently having forgotten Pete was there. Stares at him suspiciously.

“Pete's okay,” Kady says. “Well, he's a dick. But apart from that, he's okay. The Library cast a pretty nasty spell on him. Wanna help me remove it?”

Quentin nods and they get to work.

* * *

“I noticed you don't have any- any hedge witch tattoos,” Alice says, as she trots along next to Bailey. “Or are they glamoured?”

Bailey laughs, breezy and carefree.

“They still do that on the East Coast? Wow.” Bailey swings her shoes in her hand. “My grams has a whole arm full of stars, but she's the only one in the house. That practice died out _generations_ ago over here.”

Now that they're in the bounds of Bailey's territory, she's released the starsprite from her purse and they buzz along, to all appearances immensely enjoying the beach – zipping around to investigate any shells or even just drifts of sand that were larger than the others.

“You seem less-” _Desperate_ is the word that comes to mind, but it feels too cruel to say. “It seems like things are really different out here.”

Bailey shrugs. “There's not too much exchange between the coasts. I guess my people feel like yours are too competitive? Do you still use the leveling system?”

Alice has no idea and she's never been that good a liar.

“I'm technically not a hedge witch. Or at all, actually,” she says. “I'm a Magician. From Brakebills. Or, well, a student.”

“A Magician, huh?” Bailey squints against the sunlight, looking thoughtful. “Hmm.”

“Is that... okay?” Alice hates how nervous she feels. Bailey is... someone who actually doesn't hate her right now, and she doesn't want to lose that. “I guess I've kind of dropped out. It's been months since I was actually at the school.”

“Dropped out of Brakebills?” Bailey grins. “Well, then, I guess you're okay. You _definitely_ need to talk to Grams though. She has a history with one of the professors. Punched him in the throat for being an asshole.”

“Was it Mayakovsky?” Alice asks, immediately. Bailey nods.

“That sounds right. He was being a dickbag about her for a few different reasons, so she nailed him right in the voicebox. He's still around then? I guess he's not that old; he was pretty young in Grams's story.”

“It's... complicated,” Alice says. “He was stationed at Brakebills South, in Antarctica, for a really long time.”

They're almost at the house, so the conversation pauses as Bailey taps out a quick but complicated knocking sequence and then cheerfully calls out, “I'm home! I brought two friends!”

The door swings open and they go in together.

It's definitely a lot bigger on the inside, which is not uncommon but speaks again to the complicated nature of the magic being cast here. The style is all in warm tones, welcoming. There's no one in the entryway, but Bailey leads her down the hall and into a kitchen and- ah, this is the heart of the house. There are over two dozen women and men in the large room, of varying ages, some talking, some eating, a few quietly casting.

“Bailey!” About five or six different people call her name and there's a general round of welcome and affection pouring out. Alice steps back, flattening herself against the wall, watching.

Bailey's grabbed into a hug by an older woman, who looks enough like her and around the right age to possibly be 'Grams'. Alice glances at the woman's arms, sees a sleeve of hedge witch stars.

“And who are your new friends?” Grams asks, pressing a kiss against Bailey's forehead.

“This is the starsprite I was telling you about the other day,” Bailey says, excitedly. “Their name can only be expressed in the form of a sequence of colors, but they said we can call them _blue-flash-green_ for now. And the human is Alice Quinn. She dropped out of Brakebills to find out where she was needed most and so she's here to help _blue-flash-green_.”

“That's not.. exactly...” Alice sputters a little. “Um.”

“We need some concentrated magic!” Bailey continues. “And I thought, well, I know just where to go for that!”

“Alice Quinn,” Grams says, thoughtfully, a bit more loudly than before. When she talks, the chatter of conversation from the rest of her house fades out, respectfully. “There's a whisper going around about you, girl. Says the Library is looking for you. That you betrayed them and all of magic?”

Alice can't think of anything to say.

“Ah, I see,” Grams says, after a long moment of silence. “There's at least a grain of truth in it? Well, that sounds like a story I'd like to hear. And, if it's a good one, maybe I'll show you where we keep _our_ magic. Let's talk. You too, Bailey. _blue-flash-green_ , it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'd like to speak to my granddaughter and Ms. Quinn in private, so I'd ask that you stay here, please.”

Grams heads out of the room, her arm still secure around Bailey's shoulders.

Alice follows after.

* * *

“I must admit, the idea of manifesting the image of someone I've lost sends shivers down my spine,” Ora says, cupping her hands around her soup bowl and staring warily at Eliot's projections of Quentin, Margo, and Fen. “Does it not feel disturbing to you?”

“They're not the ones who are lost,” Eliot says. The soup Ora made tastes wonderful, meaty and thick. He wonders if it's actually possible to create a bad meal here. “I am.”

“I suppose that depends on how we look at the situation,” Ora says. “As you've seen, nothing here is lost forever, merely briefly misplaced.”

That is... certainly a point of view.

“You babysat that thing for- how long?” Eliot asks.

“Uncounted years,” she says. “Time was strange inside Castle Blackspire. I did not age, nor did I hunger or thirst. I slept, but never felt a physical need to do so, only a desire to rest away from the eyes of the monster.”

He shivers a little, infinitely grateful that at least Quentin isn't trapped in that place forever.

“What do you know about the other monsters – the shadowforms?”

“I believe they used to be siblings of the surviving one. He... ate them, in a sense. Cannibalised their power. He didn't like to talk about it.” Ora takes a sip from her soup bowl. “ _You_ have not apologized for setting him free, I notice.”

“I'm not planning to,” Eliot says, evenly. “I'll help fix anything that got fucked up because of what I did, but I don't- I can't regret trying to kill the monster.”

“Quentin should have come alone, then, as I did, to stave off well-meaning interference.”

“I would have followed him,” Eliot says, anger flaring, his bowl spilling over as it clatters loudly onto the table.

Ora doesn't respond at first, though her eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Ah. I see.” She glances over his illusionary friends again, eyes lingering on Quentin. “That's the lay of the land, is it? You were lovers? Or did you merely wish to be his?”

Both. Neither. Somewhere in between.

“That-” Eliot says, with great dignity. “-is none of your business.”

Ora raises her eyebrows, but doesn't challenge the statement.

“Still, there's no point in dwelling on what has already been done. That much we can both agree on,” Ora says, and Eliot is in _whole-hearted_ agreement on that point. “I hope you have a plan for moving forward?”

“I'm in the gathering information stage,” Eliot says. “I've found you and I've found Charlton. Were there any other hosts of the Monster, before him?”

“Most likely there were others,” she says. “He was the only one I ever knew.”

“Why did you call him the 'gangly one' earlier?” Eliot asks. “Didn't you recognize him?”

“I recognized the body, but I never knew his name in life,” Ora says. She gulps down more of her soup. “I would not have guessed 'Charlton'. Chesio, perhaps, or Seban. Willis. He looked like he could have been a Willis. Does it matter if there were other hosts?”

“They might have more details on exactly who or what he is. Then, we might have a chance at figuring out how to stop him.”

“Ambitious,” she says. “Very well, I will join you in your quest, Eliot of Waugh.”

He thinks about correcting her, but he kind of likes the way it sounds. “Ora, where are you from?”

“I was born on the Floating Mountain,” she says. “Specifically, Bublepump.”

“You're Ora of Bublepump?” Eliot asks. He can barely keep a straight face.

“Sir Ora of Bublepump, yes,” she says. “I was knighted at the age of fourteen by the great Stone Queen Breccia of the Tribe of the Floating Mountain.”

“Amazing,” Eliot says. “I'd be honored to have your help, Sir Ora. Of Bublepump.” She gives him a mildly suspicious look, but he's doing _the best he can_ not to laugh and he deserves some credit for what a heroic attempt he's making under the circumstances. “It's terrible to quest alone.”

Still, before they leave, he finishes his soup.

* * *

Margo feeds the lizard a slice of the fruit, stares at it expectantly. “Birthright me, you bitch.”

“It'll be a few hours until it takes effect,” Idri says. “Perhaps a short recess for dinner?”

“I guess we've got no choice,” she says, with a sigh, and waves at him as he heads out of the room. She picks up one of the bunnies she's relatively certain that Q's been sending, gives it a piece of fruit too, while it stares at her somewhat coldly. She puts it back down. “Sheesh, my deepest apologies for picking you up, princess. I need to know what our friends told you to tell us, though, okay? So let us know when you're feeling chatty. It's important.”

She looks over at the plate of fruit slices.

She's got enough for four more bunnies. Or, she could give one to Abigail or-

She gives the fruit to the bunnies.

Josh is fidgeting at the corner of her vision, like he's gotta piss.

“Hoberman, did you have something to add?”

“Um, yeah, can we... talk. Alone?”

She does not want to have another conversation about his whole set of issues, but apparently she doesn't have a choice. She makes her excuses to Fen and Tick and the rest of her court, goes to talk to Josh in a small side chamber.

“All right, spill.”

“Look, I'm concerned about our priorities,” he says, which feels like a swerve. “I feel like we should talk about what we've decided is important.”

“Okay, what the _fuck_ has crawled up your ass?” Margo asks. “I thought we were good. Where is this coming from? And why are you moping like you're going for an award?”

“I'm not moping,” Josh says, like a liar. “I'm just... considering our options here. Margo, you are a _fantastic_ King, but you have to stop fixating on Eliot.”

What the fuck did those things have to do with each other?

“Fixating?” Margo narrowly stops herself from punching Josh in the face. “He's my best goddamn friend, Hoberman.”

“Yeah, trust me, we all know how far you're willing to go for friendship, but you have to consider the collateral damage at some point.”

“Are you- are you still fucking pissed at me for saving your life?” Margo sputters. Josh shrugs, which is not an answer. “Well, fuck you then. Go smoke something and stop bothering me.”

“Yeah, I guess that's all I'm good for,” Josh mutters and-

“I guess it is,” she says. His face tightens, then it softens and he-

-he reaches out for her shoulder. She slaps his hand away.

“Look, Margo, I know you aren't really mad at me. You're mad at yourself,” he says, in a calming, bullshitty way. And. No. She is not going to let a man try to explain her own goddamn emotions to her. She has had more than enough of _that_ in her life.

“Josh? Get the fuck out,” she says, her voice even and deadly. He stares at her a moment longer, then nods and leaves.

After he's gone, she hits the fucking wall, feels her skin scrape against the stone. She _is_ mad at herself, but she's mad at him too, she's mad at... _fuck_ , she couldn't have let him die, but how the fuck is she gonna...

She's mad at whoever the fuck created the damn werewolf curse in the first place.

Well, she isn't gonna just sit around and take it.

New plan: fix the animals; save Eliot; then figure out a goddamn cure for lycanthropy.

She stays in the room for a few more minutes, getting her temper under control, then heads out to join Idri for dinner.

* * *

Penny sits on the bed, eyes closed, focuses.

Irene had left the room about half an hour ago, after double-checking all her wards, giving Penny time to investigate the runes – untouchable – and the plumbing – very securely bolted in place. Nothing physical is gonna get him out of here. It'll have to be his magic.

So, he sits, and he opens up his mind, thinks back to when he first started at Brakebills.

The giddy joy of meeting Julia for the first time and falling ass-over-heels in love, his reluctant affection for her best friend, and, of course, the classes.

Professor Sunderland talking to him about the theories of traveling. She'd had no practical experience, of course, but she'd dived head-first into researching it for the sake of teaching him.

There's a ward around this room even in his own headspace. But he can be smaller like this, small as a molecule. Smaller than that.

_Think of yourself as a beam of light_ , Sunderland had told him, one beautiful sunny day. A Tuesday. He'd had lunch with Julia that day and she'd gushed excitedly about how she and Quentin were starting to suspect Fillory was a real place. He can't think about that. He has to concentrate on Sunderland's words. _You are both a wave and a particle. Embrace your fluidity and you will always be free._

There's no cage built that can hold a traveller for long.

Penny begins a careful, atom-by-atom exploration of his prison. Inside his head, time unspools, giving him plenty of opportunity to search as deeply as he needs to, pressing cautious mental fingers here and there, experimentally.

The runes hiss at him when his mind presses against them. The ceiling and floors are equally unassailable.

But, oh _yes_ , there's that plumbing again.

He presses against the water faucet – not down the drain, but upwards.

He follows the curve of metal, his thoughts as small as water droplets, inches himself up and up.

Slips past the wards where they're open just wide enough to let the water through.

Penny frowns – there's another piece of magic here, looped around the ward. It doesn't feel like Irene's, not sharp or bitter enough.

It feels like an invitation.

It feels like-

Penny gathers himself up again, leans against that magic, that little tug of familiarity.

_Travels_.

* * *

And so now they're five – or two, depending on whether or not hallucinations of your dearest friends count.

For the sake of his own mental health, Eliot is going to count them, at least for now. It makes him feel less alone.

Ora picks the furthest point she can see, where the edges of her memory seem to fade a little, and they head in that direction. She didn't actually need to go anywhere to change, but as they left the castle, she's suddenly wearing armor and carrying a sword, which is potentially useful.

It makes him think, and he reaches down and pats his chest and- yes. He's wearing a shoulder holster now, with a revolver tucked securely inside. He's not sure how much good it'll do against the shadowforms, but it can't hurt.

Fen takes the lead again, with Margo and Quentin walking behind him. Ora stays next to him, seemingly happy to contemplate her own thoughts. Eliot can only handle the quiet for so long, so it's inevitable that he's the one who breaks the silence between them.

“What made you volunteer, anyway? Was your father really a prisoner at Blackspire?” he asks.

Ora laughs. “My father? No. He trained me to be a warrior. During my journeys, I heard a legend about a monster at the end of the world. Being a curious sort, I chased the story until I met an old witch. She told me the truth, and told me the current guardian was weary.”

“So, like Quentin, you went in already planning to become the new babysitter?”

Ora considers his wording a moment, then nods.

“Hmm, just so,” she says. “But I was a wanderer, never one to travel in a pack. When Quentin made his offer to me, I didn't realize the complications he would bring along with him.”

“Have you ever- is there anyone who could have talked you out of it?” Eliot tries to sound like he doesn't really care about the answer, but he doubts he's fooling her.

“My only family was my father, who understood the life I led,” Ora says, reflectively. “And though I did have a companion from time to time, I never had any great fondness for any partner in particular.”

“No friends?” Eliot asks.

“Friends seemed a distraction,” she says. “I was constantly moving from village to village. I never had the time, I suppose.”

That is... incredibly depressing. Though she seems happy enough when she talks about it, so maybe he's just being judgmental. Not everyone gets lonely.

“I don't know if I could have survived as long as I did without my friends,” Eliot says, heart aching as he thinks of Margo and Quentin.

“You miss them a great deal,” Ora says. She stops a moment, puts her hand up to shade her eyes. “Yes, I don't recognize that path. Let's go that way.”

They adjust their route slightly, and head off at a new angle.

“I do miss them,” Eliot admits, softly. “And I worry about them. About what the Monster is doing to them while he looks like me.”

“Understandable fears,” she says, which is profoundly unhelpful and not the least bit reassuring. “Though at least they know you live still, you said?”

“Yeah, Quentin does,” Eliot says. “He'll tell the others.” Especially Margo. God, his Bambi. It's been forever since he's seen the real her. The last time had been right before Fogg had sentenced them to their new fake lives. Quentin had huddled in a corner away from the rest of them, desperately unhappy, and Eliot and Margo had clung to each other, terrified of what was to come.

Fuck.

It's fine. He'll see her soon. He'll see them both soon.

* * *

“Come on, you scaly piece of crap. Just talk to me,” Margo coaxes. Aggressively.

She waves Fen and the others to stand further back.

The lizard stares at her, silently judging. She narrows her eyes. It... stares at her.

“EL'S ALIVE! STILL POSSESSED!”

Margo turns at the sound of that familiar hoarse yell – it's the first bunny she'd fed earlier.

“EL'S ALIVE! STILL POSSESSED!” the bunny repeated.

“Former High King Eliot is _possessed_?” Idri asks. “No one mentioned that.”

“I'VE GOT A PLAN!” Another bunny pipes up. “I'VE GOT A PLAN!”

“Do you... know something about possession?” Margo asks, turning her back on the lizard and marching up to Idri. “You know how to save him?”

Idri hesitates.

“ALSO JULIA MISSES PENNY!” A third bunny tells them. “ALSO JULIA MISSES PENNY!”

For a moment, that one confuses her. Then- okay, they must think Penny is _here_? So, that's concerning. But her focus has to stay on Eliot.

“Nothing more than a rumor,” Idri says, shrugging a shoulder. “Possession is... a way of life for some. There's a tribe in the desert... they call spirits to themselves. Most of the time, the spirits depart again peacefully. Occasionally, they do not. I've heard they have ways of dealing with this, though I don't know the details.”

“Why didn't I know about this?” Margo asks.

“PLEASE RESPOND! GETTING WORRIED!” A fourth bunny says, urgently. “PLEASE RESPOND! GETTING WORRIED!”

“They despise Fillory,” Idri says. “Refuse to talk or trade with Fillorians.”

“Okay, so they've got bad taste,” Margo says. “What else do you know about them?”

“They create _excellent_ woven fabrics,” Idri says. “I believe it comes from the wool of their livestock, who do poorly outside the desert.”

“Right, which you know because they trade with Loria. Because they don't hate you.” Margo steeples her hands together and thinks. Maybe she can get ahead of this thing, help out from her side. Bring Quentin something tangible to fix this mess. She looks up again, sees Josh's frown and-

Fuck Josh, anyway, and his talk about priorities. She knows what matters most here. What _has_ to matter most if she wants to be able to keep looking at herself in the mirror.

“They don't hate you,” Margo repeats, an idea coalescing. “So... King Idri, how would you feel about temporarily gaining a cousin?”

He thinks about it, then smiles widely.

“Ah, I assume I will send this cousin to speak to the Tribe of the Wandering Dune?”

Margo blinks for a second because that name she _does_ recognize. But she doesn't remember anything about them being able to cure possession in the books.

“Damn right, you will,” Margo says, shaking it off. “You can stay here and hash out the details of our deal with Josh and Fen. Obviously, we both know you have an advantage here.”

“I do,” Idri says. “But I also wish you... good luck, High King Margo. And I hope you find a way to bring Eliot back to us all.”

“Take me!” Margo turns around, startled. It's the damn birthright lizard, with a voice like a chipmunk on steroids. “Take me!”

“Well, guess I've gotta go now,” Margo says, a warm wash of satisfaction and righteous vindication washing through her. “It's my fucking birthright.”

“BEST NEWS EVER!” A bunny tells her, and that one was probably sent _right before_ the 'El's alive' bunny, if she knows Quentin as well as she thinks she does. But she'll take it as a sign. “BEST NEWS EVER!”

She picks the bunny up, gives it a message to take back.

* * *

Penny shakes his head, brain aching a little.

“Thanks for accepting the invite,” a _very_ familiar voice says.

Penny looks up, sees a desk and, seated there casually, is himself.

He gets unsteadily to his feet, clocks the differences – the suit is a big one. There's a settled look on the other Penny's face – Penny-40's face – one that Penny has never seen in the mirror. Mostly, he seems older, but maybe that comes with being technically dead.

“You're the other me, huh? The one who belongs here, in this time.”

Penny-40 straightens his tie. “I wouldn't think of it that way. I'd like to think the universe is big enough for two of us. Now, I'm guessing you're wondering why I asked you to come.”

“Vaguely curious,” Penny concedes. He takes a moment to look around. It's a study, he thinks. The walls are covered in shelves of books. Everything is dark reddish-brown wood – mahogany, maybe. Looks expensive.

“Due to a profound overstep of authority on the part of the Order, the Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems no longer considers itself affiliated with or beholden to the Order of the Library of the Neitherlands,” Penny-40 says, in a measured cadence that makes Penny think this is specific legal wording that is just being repeated for his benefit. “Therefore, we have chosen to restrict access to certain sensitive volumes for in-branch staff only, no longer to be shared within the larger system. And, of course, that information itself is also restricted.”

“What does that mean for our friends?” Penny asks. “And who, exactly, is _we_?”

“Well, the call was made by the current Acting Head Librarian of the Underworld Branch of the Grand Library Systems,” Penny-40 said, with a sly grin. “In conjunction with the Lord of the Underworld.”

With a flourish, Penny-40 reaches down and turns around the small name plate on the desk.

**Penny Adiyodi. Head Librarian.**

“Holy fucking shit. How did you pull _that_ off?” Penny asks, impressed despite himself.

“Oh, you know, joined a bookclub. Used it to start a revolution. Just your normal Friday afternoon,” Penny-40 says jauntily. “With Hades's help, I've closed off almost all exits out of the Underworld. Officially, we are intake-only. It's gonna make it a little awkward to sneak you back out, but I can swing it. Just need to locate a strong enough magic nexus on Earth, open a door long enough for you to squeeze through, then slam it shut again. You with me?”

“Yeah,” Penny says. “I assume you have- a message for me to give the others?”

“I do. Alice made it so that the Library doesn't have accurate records for any of you. That's helpful, as long as it lasts, but that won't be forever. Dean Fogg signed a deal that makes it very difficult to cast locator spells on any of you. Also useful, but they're already trying to work on finding a loophole. You _need_ to get the others to press the advantage while you have it.” He nods, as if to himself, then continues, “The Neitherlands Branch is hoarding magic, so the Underworld Branch can't challenge them directly. We'd lose in a heartbeat. Someone on Fillory needs to take out the siphon at Blackspire, but you also need to remove their power base.”

Penny-40 looks steady. Determined. A lot more mature than Penny himself feels capable of being right now.

“And don't worry about the monster.” That part, Penny-40 says almost off-hand.

Penny blinks.

“ _Don't_ worry about the monster?” he repeats.

“One last thing.”

“Yeah?” Penny says, still feeling distracted by the previous thing.

“Zelda feels-”

“Who the fuck is Zelda?”

“You just met her,” Penny-40 says, patiently.

“Oh, Civility Lady?”

“That... wow, yeah. That tracks. Anyway, she feels guilty about what happened with me. You might be able to use that to your advantage.”

And... sure, whatever. For now, Penny just listens. He'll pry apart and figure out the meaning of it all later, when he has the chance to talk to people who know this version of Penny better.

“Got it. Anything else?”

Penny-40 hesitates. Then adds, “Tell Kady- tell her we're still fighting on the same team. We're fighting the same war. We're just on different battlefields for now.”

And the look on his face... yeah, Penny knows that one.

“I promise,” he says. “I'll tell her.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering what Bailey looks like, I picture her looking like [Logan Browning](https://www.imdb.com/name/nm2503064/?ref_=nmls_hd).


End file.
